Honestly an ex-Turk and a First Class SOLDIER is probably more than this flock can handle. For all that inevitably a stray claw or ice or razor sharp feather might get through, this is what Sephiroth was made for, and he's fast enough to avoid or counter almost everything thrown at him.
Vincent's certainly holding his own just fine too. He knows, if the flock remains on the attack, there's going to be only dead avians to tell of ever being there at all, and as the minutes tick past and the prey does not fall, the smarter of the birds begin to get a better idea that maybe they've bitten off more than they can chew.
Anything that gets into Sephiroth's range dies.
Anything that tries to stay out of that range gets shot down, and subsequently put back into range. Blood and feathers and cooling corpses litter the rolling hillside.
It's a pair of zu that decide to not get closer after one is creased with a bullet that leaves a bloody furrow through feathers but not quite bringing it down, backwinging heavily in the low stormclouds and hissing and snapping in frustrated agitation, not quite out of easy gunshot range but certainly out of Sephiroth's easy reach. And then a third, this one landing to use a fallen corpse as cover from bullets and hide from the bloody edge of the sword.
A fourth wheels away in a flurry of wingbeats. There were easier prey to be found elsewhere, surely.
Offhands are for losers, get in the single weapon game!
Vincent's certainly holding his own just fine too. He knows, if the flock remains on the attack, there's going to be only dead avians to tell of ever being there at all, and as the minutes tick past and the prey does not fall, the smarter of the birds begin to get a better idea that maybe they've bitten off more than they can chew.
Anything that gets into Sephiroth's range dies.
Anything that tries to stay out of that range gets shot down, and subsequently put back into range. Blood and feathers and cooling corpses litter the rolling hillside.
It's a pair of zu that decide to not get closer after one is creased with a bullet that leaves a bloody furrow through feathers but not quite bringing it down, backwinging heavily in the low stormclouds and hissing and snapping in frustrated agitation, not quite out of easy gunshot range but certainly out of Sephiroth's easy reach. And then a third, this one landing to use a fallen corpse as cover from bullets and hide from the bloody edge of the sword.
A fourth wheels away in a flurry of wingbeats. There were easier prey to be found elsewhere, surely.